


The Way to A Man's Heart

by mintmagic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chef Ben Solo, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, The Softest Soft Kylux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:39:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintmagic/pseuds/mintmagic
Summary: Two years ago, Armitage Hux hired a personal chef-- an awkward Culinary Institute of America graduate named Ben Solo.  Ben has been changing Hux's world for the better every single day since then, and he's determined to do it again.





	The Way to A Man's Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katherine1753](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine1753/gifts).



> Special thanks to my beta reader, Jo (thecopperriver) for all the emotional support, and to my art partner, Katherine (katherine1753) for the prompt.

“Are you ever going to tell me why I had to take so many days off, or do you intend to blindfold me and pack my suitcase for me?”

Ben laughs and ruffles up Hux’s hair, which would be completely unacceptable if it weren’t for the fact that they’re alone in the bedroom, and Millie couldn’t care less what her weird bipedal housemate’s hair looks like.  “You always talk about how much you miss the ocean,” Ben says, passing his tablet over to Hux.  “I figured I could plan a romantic little getaway for the two of us.”

“I gathered it was some sort of romantic getaway,” Hux muttered, pushing a strand of hair back out of his eyes.  “And now you’ve given me just a few hours to pack.  Really, Ben, you’re so dramatic.”

“Me?  Dramatic?”  Ben flops over on the bed and blinks up at Hux innocently.  “Whatever do you mean?”

He lies there with his head resting on Hux’s legs, quietly waiting for some sort of comment about the rental house.  As soon as he saw the pictures, he’d fallen in love with the quaint little cottage and its robin’s egg blue siding.  It was small, with just one bedroom and bathroom, but it was lovingly decorated like an actual house instead of covered in fishing nets and gigantic plaster scallop shells.  The floors and countertops were new, the walls were freshly painted, and despite the age betrayed by the radiator in the bedroom, it was a lovely place.  It had a porch with a rocking chair, a back door that opened onto the beach, and best of all, a deep soaker tub.  He’s fairly sure he knows the moment Hux spots that detail, because suddenly, Hux’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile.

“I believe I could tolerate staying there for a few days,” Hux says, threading his fingers into Ben’s hair.

“Good, ‘cuz I already bought a bunch of SPF 100 for you.”

\--

Hux supposes he owes his brother for a few things.

He owes Techie for spotting the job opening that led to his career at First Order Industries.

He owes Techie for house-sitting for a week while he goes on this little vacation.

He owes Techie for Ben.

\--

_“If you’re going to hire someone, what about the guy that catered my wedding?  He’s looking for a full-time gig.”  Techie wraps a strand of hair around his finger and twirls it while he searches his phone for contact information.  “His name’s Ben, and he’s pretty cute.”_

_Hux takes a too-large gulp of coffee and scalds his tongue.  Rather than admit defeat, he winces and bites out, “Cute doesn’t matter if he can cook.”_

_“Remember the mashed potatoes?”_

_Oh, does he ever.  He’s not sure how the potatoes were so good, and he really hadn’t wanted to ask at the time.  The answer was probably cream and butter.  Maybe he shouldn’t hire someone who uses so much butter.  He weighs the pros and cons in his head.  On one hand, no more cup noodles at lunch, or depressing sandwiches, or running across the road for a burrito after a meeting.  On the other, being around those mashed potatoes all the time can’t be good for his health._

_But they were exceptional potatoes._

_He takes the chance._

_The cook who shows up for the interview is an awkward young man in ripped jeans and a band t-shirt, hardly professional, but armed with multiple reusable shopping totes of groceries.  Hux takes it as a good sign.  After all, cooking in nice clothes is bound to get them messy.  He quietly excuses himself to his office and allows Ben to take over the kitchen._

_At 7 o’clock sharp, Ben knocks on the office door and asks him to come try out his cooking.  Really, Hux doesn’t even need to try it.  When he opens the door, he’s taken right back to Techie’s wedding and those lovely, creamy mashed potatoes.  As much as he enjoys a properly roasted chicken-- and Ben’s excited chattering about making soup from the leftovers-- he’s a simple man to please.  Just give him carbs and he’s happy._

_Ben joins him for dinner, and perhaps Hux is a bit liberal with the accompanying wine, but he’s nothing if not a gracious host when someone gives him food.  The wine settles pleasantly into both of them, and Ben’s posture goes from stiff and nervous to relaxed and open, almost like he’s forgotten this is a job interview.  He’s very talkative, Hux finds, but only about food.  That is, until Millie enters.  Ben is just tipsy enough to exclaim, “Kitty,” and crouch down on the floor to beckon her over.  When Millie sniffs his finger tips and licks them, Hux is fairly sure he sees tears welling up in Ben’s eyes.  He can’t bear to point out that it’s because he smells like chicken and gravy._

_When Millie plops down in front of Ben and eagerly accepts chin scratches, that settles the matter for Hux.  Ben is pleasant to talk to, he cooks amazingly well, and he apparently adores cats.  Millie even tolerates him in return.  All in all, it sounds like a great deal._

\--

  
While Hux calls his brother to arrange for him to check on Millie during the trip, Ben makes a few last minute preparations.  Once he’s sure he’s alone, when Hux is distracted with Techie’s latest horror story about being in tech support and dealing with customers, he digs around in his gym bag until he finds a black velvet box.  When he slips it into his pocket, it sticks out like a beacon.  Unacceptable.  However, since Ben tends to live out of his suitcase on trips, he figures he can hide it in there.  Hux always unpacks immediately, but since Ben doesn’t mind a few wrinkles here and there, unpacking sometimes doesn’t happen at all.

Hux is quiet on the drive down to the beach, seemingly lost in his own world.  Every now and then, when Ben glances over, Hux has his nails in his mouth.  What does he have to be nervous about, though?  “Millie will be fine,” he says softly, reaching over at a red light to bring Hux’s hand away from his mouth and hold it.  “She probably won’t even care that we’re gone, as long as Techie keeps her bowl full.”

\--

It’s sunny when they get to the beach house-- the sort of sun with big, puffy clouds and cornflower blue skies, the sort one might picture over a golden prairie.  Hux wrinkles his nose and makes a beeline for shelter.  “I’d say you won’t burn in the thirty seconds it takes to grab your suitcase,” Ben teases, “But we both know I’d be wrong.  You could burn right through your clothes.”

Hux narrows his eyes and huddles further into the thin triangle of shade on the inner corner of the cottage’s covered front porch.  “I don’t want to get freckles.  They make me look childish,” he complains.  He crosses his arms like a petulant kid, which really doesn’t help the image he’s trying to subvert.  “Besides, you didn’t pop the trunk for me.”

Ben just rolls his eyes and grabs both suitcases out of the trunk while Hux fumbles with the lock.  “I guess I have to do everything around here.  How would you get on without me?”

Peeking over his shoulder with a coy smile, Hux says, “I have no idea, darling.”

\--

_The first time the two of them use a pet name is an accident._

_Hux is in a hurry, rushing around in the last five minutes before he absolutely has to leave for work, and as he grabs his packed lunch from Ben, he kisses him goodbye and says, “See you for dinner, love.”_

_Love._

_The word buzzes in Ben’s mind like a cloud of swarming bees, so intense that he hasn’t even fully processed the kiss.  He doesn’t quite realize why his lips are tingling until several minutes later, and he exclaims to Millie, “My god, he kissed me!”_

_About an hour later, Ben’s phone buzzes with a message from Hux._

_“Sorry about this morning.  I must’ve been half asleep.”_

_The second time is that evening, when Ben has worked up all his courage to go through with his little joke.  If he plays it off for laughs, he thinks, maybe it won’t hurt so much._

_Ben brings in Hux’s usual nighttime cup of tea, the signal that he’s going to bed and Hux should too, and drops it off with a timid little peck on Hux’s cheek.  His nose presses against Hux’s cheekbone in a clumsy, sweet way, and Hux is halfway through turning toward him to catch his mouth when Ben pulls back and says, “Go to bed,_ dear _.”_

_Hux scoffs indignantly and turns a deep shade of pink, almost like an instant sunburn.  “It was an accident, alright?”_

_“Sure it was,_ sweetheart _.”_

_Hux definitely doesn’t lie awake for the better part of an hour, wishing he’d just grabbed onto Ben and kissed him properly.  Not at all._

\--

While Hux dutifully unpacks everything and makes sure his clothes are hung up neatly or folded in drawers, Ben pokes around in the kitchen, opening all the drawers and taking stock of the pantry.  It’s mostly barren, which isn’t surprising, but it’s a little disappointing.  He didn’t come all this way to go grocery shopping.

Luckily, Hux takes it in stride.

Half an hour later, Hux is pushing a shopping cart down the aisles while Ben hums along with the tired power ballads coming through the store speakers.  He pretends to be disgusted and shakes Ben’s hand off his shoulder when his partner croons about _finding a masterpiece in him_ or some other nonsense, but really, he can’t be mad.  Ben’s just goofing around, which is oddly endearing.  He’s tone deaf, but so sweet.

Ben gives Hux a little peck on the cheek before putting several chocolate bars in the cart, then stops and frowns, attempting to count something on his fingers.  “Hey, Hux, how many sixty percent bars do I need to combine with these eighty percent bars to get an average of seventy-five percent cocoa?”

“Well, if sixty and eighty averages to seventy, then… ugh, can’t you just find that out on your phone?  At work I get to have a calculator,” Hux mutters.  “Asking me to do math when you have your phone right there is cruel and unusual.”

Ben just laughs and says, “Don’t look at me, I barely passed my math classes.  Seventy is close enough.”

“Why do you even want to make hot chocolate at the beach?”

Ben looks scandalized, bringing his hand to his chest in mock horror.  “Because I want to go out on the beach at night and bring hot chocolate!  It gets cold when the sun goes down because of the breeze.”

Hux, who can get away with wearing a simple sweater in unfairly cold temperatures, looks less than convinced.  Still, if Ben wants to do this, he won’t say no.  Whenever Ben’s cooking involves sweets, he’s powerless to resist.

\--

_Hux moans around a mouthful of shortbread.  He swallows, dry and hurried, then licks the crumbs and caramel from his lips with a quick flash of his tongue.  “Fuck, Ben, you’ve ruined me for shop-bought.  I hope you’re happy.”_

_Ben turns so brilliantly red and stiff-backed that Hux suspects he could be pushed over with a light tap._

_Just to test a hypothesis, Hux licks some chocolate off the pad of his thumb, moving much slower.  This is all for show, unlike his quick devouring of the cookies before.  Ben’s eyes follow the motion with rapt attention._

_“I-- I am,” comes Ben’s breathless reply.  “I mean… y-you know, gotta make sure I stay employed somehow.”_

\--

“Here, try this.”

Ben’s voice is as smooth as the melted chocolate he’s stirring, and Hux is enchanted, spellbound, worse than Millie when she spots a dangling string.  There’s a spoon waiting for him, and Ben is looking at him with those big, dark doe eyes, looking irresistible in a tight-fitting t-shirt and pajama pants with little anchors on them.  How could anyone deny that temptation?  Hux closes his eyes and lets Ben feed him.  He hums appreciatively, then sighs, all without spilling a drop.  “You know,” Hux says, pressing closer to Ben’s side than he strictly has to, “I’ve never met anyone who made hot chocolate the way you do.”

Ben just lifts his silicone spatula from the pot and inspects the thin ribbon of chocolate for any unmelted lumps.  “It’s somewhere between Mexico and France,” he says.  “I’ve never been one to make hot chocolate with water when I could use milk.”

It’s unfair, really.  Ben has abs like a professional athlete, and all he ever seems to do is the occasional bit of yoga.  Hux suspects he may have been engineered by a Hollywood studio and escaped his cloning tank.  Every time he sees Ben’s shirt ride up when he reaches for something on the top shelf, like a seldom-used trifle dish, his heart stops for a moment.

Just as Ben finishes pouring hot chocolate into two blue mugs emblazoned with starfish, Hux picks up the faint sound of rain.  “Oh, no,” he sighs, only halfway mourning the missed opportunity as he gestures toward the glass patio door.  “Looks like a night in.”

Luckily, Ben is flexible.  He raises his eyebrows and gives Hux one of his endearingly crooked smiles, and without a word, their alternate plan is made.

\--

_“You’re spoiling me,” Hux sighs, licking a few shortbread crumbs from his lip.  “I don’t know how I got on without you.”_

_Ben picks at a bit of dough stuck to his apron.  His cheeks flush.  This is hardly the first time Hux has said such things, but lately, Ben has been wondering the same thing.  How did he get by without Hux?  He thrives on Hux’s attention, on his kind words of praise, on the murmurs of gratitude when he brings in a cup of hot malted milk at half past midnight to coax Hux into sleeping.  Now, whenever he brings that satisfied look to Hux’s face, he wants to surge forward and kiss him, to trace over his perfect cheekbones and feel the warmth of his breath.  That urge coils low inside Ben’s stomach, twisting in on itself like a ball python writhing under a heat lamp.  He wrings the ties of his apron in his hands to keep them occupied._

_He shouldn’t fall for Hux.  It’s just not ethical, having a crush on his employer.  If Hux flirts back, eventually, things will get messy.  His contract, his lovely guest room here in Hux’s house, his paycheck, they’re all in danger.  And yet, he thinks it might be worth it if Hux loves him in return._

_What if it all goes wrong, though?  What if it’s just a flash in the pan, a quick fling?  What if Hux grows tired of his quirks and dumps him?  Could he stay and work for someone who he once loved?  He’s not sure he can.  Even if Hux were to hire him again, the strain might be too much._

_After what feels like much too long, Ben returns to the moment.  Hux’s plate of shortbread cookies with little jam thumbprints is completely empty, and Hux leans against the counter with a satisfied sigh.  Ben’s resolve weakens a little more.  After nearly a year of this tension, this odd domesticity, he’s not sure how much more he can take._

\--

“Uh-huh.  Alright, Tee, I’ll see you next week.  Send Millie my love.”

Ben hears a beep signaling the end of a Skype call, then soft, sock-footed steps coming down the hall.  Hux’s hair is still damp from showering, but the droplet marks on the shoulders of the t-shirt he obviously stole from Ben’s suitcase are drying, fading to faint circles that blend in with the wear and tear of bleach spills on the old fabric.  That shirt is Hux’s now, Ben knows.  He’s never getting it back.  Not that he really wants to, since it means Hux will wear it around the house, barely covering himself with the short hem.  If he so much as lifts his arms, he’ll be flashing Ben a cheeky little peek at whatever he’s wearing--or not wearing--underneath.

Hux plops down next to him on the couch and lays his legs over Ben’s lap, showing off fuzzy socks with alternating blue and white stripes.  The chenille is pleasant under Ben’s fingers when he idly strokes them, but not quite as nice as the smooth curves of Hux’s calves.  “You shaved,” Ben observes, drifting his palm upward.

“Mm-hm.”  Hux spreads his legs a little, giving Ben a glimpse of lace.  “I can’t get over how good it feels against the sheets.”

“God, you’re a tease.”

“Well,” Hux drawls, fluttering his translucent eyelashes, “good boys deserve rewards, and you’re always so good to me.”

\--

_“All my coworkers think we’re dating.”_

_Ben drops his spatula in surprise and curses as it slips into the soup.  “I don’t-- Why would--?”  He fishes around for tongs to retrieve his spatula, but it feels like his hands are numb and shaking.  “Do you talk about me a lot?”_

_“I suppose I must,” Hux confesses.  He looks a bit nervous as well, chewing on his lower lip and wringing his hands._

_Silence hangs heavily in the air while Ben digs out his spatula and wipes it off.  Finally, he turns the heat down on the stove and looks back at Hux.  “What’s their reasoning?  Have they even met me?”_

_“Of course they have.  They know you’re the incredibly fit guy who brings in all the baked goods.”_

_He has a point, really.  Even if Ben doesn’t talk much to the office staff, he comes in with his white paper boxes of cupcakes and cookies at least once a month, and he occasionally shows up if Hux forgets to take his lunch.  They all know him by sight._

_“They said I’m much happier since you moved in,” Hux continues.  “They’re not wrong.  I was rather lonely before with just Millie.”_

_Ben tries to force down the odd, bubbly feeling in his stomach.  This can’t be real, can it?  This is the part where in a movie, there would be some sort of confession.  The orchestral score would swell in the background while they kiss, and--_

_No.  It can’t happen.  Hux is just lonely and glad to have a roommate, especially a roommate who can cook.  He was living on takeout before; of course his mood is better now._

_“We could stage some kind of break-up fight if they really won’t get off your case about me.  You know, if they don’t believe you when you say I’m just your private chef,” Ben suggests tentatively._

_“That-- really, that won’t be necessary, I don’t think.”  Hux looks a bit flushed.  He often does, being so fair and red-haired, but Ben can’t help over-analyzing it as his mind goes at paralyzing speed toward a worst case scenario.  What if he’s about to get fired?  Oh, god, Hux knows.  He knows about the crush._

_But Hux keeps talking, and he doesn’t say the F word._

_“Really, it’s quite flattering, if they think I could ever seduce someone like you.”_

_Ben wants to say something clever, but all that comes out is, “Why would you ever want me?”_

_The look on Hux’s face is somewhere between shock and pity, Ben thinks.  Something close to pity, anyway.  “Do I have to spell it out for you?”  He takes a step closer, gently touching Ben’s shoulder.  “You’re handsome, you’re clever, you cook ridiculously well, and you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.  You’re so much better than you think you are.”_

_It’s not enough to take away a lifetime of teasing, of being the “weird kid” in school.  It’s not enough to stave off the depression, the anxiety, the horrible whispers in his head.  It is enough, though, to make Ben look at Hux instead of down at the floor._

_Hux’s hand brushes his cheek, and Ben fights the urge to lean into it._

_“The more I think about what we have, the more it’s not enough for me,” Hux murmurs, almost too soft to be heard.  “It’s terribly selfish of me, but-- I can’t bear the thought that one day, you might leave.  I’ve always feared being like my father, forcing myself on an employee.  Please, Ben.  Tell me you feel the same.  We can work out what happens to your contract later.”_

_The humming of the refrigerator fades out as Ben realizes what Hux means._

_Somehow, this brilliant, successful man wants him, sees him as worth something._

_Ben wastes no time closing those last few inches of space between them with a kiss.  As Hux sighs and curls his hands into the front of Ben’s shirt, neither one of them cares about the contract.  What matters now is the endless possibilities for kisses goodnight and good morning and welcome home, for falling asleep in each other’s arms, for twining their fingers together while walking to the farmer’s market._

_“I love you,” Hux says as he takes Ben by the hand.  “I can’t believe you didn’t know.”_

\--

It doesn’t take long for Hux to situate himself on Ben’s lap, rolling his hips while they kiss.  The unexpected rain has only hurried the evening’s events along, as well as kept sand from getting in delicate places.  Ben tries not to be upset-- he had a bit of a secret plan for the beach and its romantic atmosphere, but perhaps the will of the universe doesn’t like sand.  He’s never been one to question fate.

Right now, fate feels a lot like Hux’s delicate fingers threading through his hair, pulling his head back gently, and the blunt pressure of teeth on his neck.  It feels like slow, lazy kisses on the blue gingham couch of this rental house.  Like the sound of rain and distant waves.  Maybe someday they’ll retire to a place like this and spend their mornings sipping coffee and watching sunrises on the ocean.

“Hello, Earth to Ben,” Hux purrs, kissing his temple.  “You’ve drifted off again.”

Ben rubs his hand up and down Hux’s back, counting the bumps of his spine.  “Wanna keep me grounded?”

Hux smirks and presses closer.  “I’ll pin you down myself if I have to.”

\--

_“Oh, fuck!”_

_“Yeah, uh, that’s-- that’s what we’re doing.”_

_Hux glares and pushes Ben away for the moment, which isn’t really intimidating, seeing as he’s laid out on the bed and drowning in pillows.  “You killed it, Ben.  Murdered the moment in cold blood.  I don’t know how I ever saw fit to let you fuck me when you make so many awful puns.”_

_Ben just laughs and buries his face in the curve of Hux’s neck, then blows a raspberry and laughs harder.  Hux tries not to laugh as well, but it comes out as an undignified snort.  “You just like me for my body,” Ben accuses him, but his tone is light and joking and his hand is still creeping up the inside of Hux’s thigh.  “Admit it.  You’re in this because of my biceps.”_

_Hux tries to smother him with a pillow.  “No wonder you’re a fucking virgin.”_

_Hux absolutely does not stare when Ben is kneading dough for cinnamon buns.  Staring implies a continuous look, and what Hux does… well, it’s more like stealing furtive peeks at Ben’s arms and the tendons in his hands, then shifting around uncomfortably and crossing his legs beneath the dining table._

_One would think he was the inexperienced one, but no.  Somehow, Ben’s grueling culinary school years, overbearing parents, and general awkwardness have kept him from any relationships, or even flings._

_Now, he’s all Hux’s._

\--

Morning comes too early.  The owners of the guest house advertised the lovely morning sunshine in the master bedroom, and they weren’t exaggerating.  A sunbeam the size of the enormous flat-screen in the living room is hitting Ben square in the face.  He tries to pull a pillow over his face, but when he does, he not only catches a whiff of Hux’s shampoo, but he realizes he’s alone in the bed.

He looks around, blearily searching for a tell-tale glow beneath the bathroom door.  Hux is nowhere to be found.  There’s a fuzzy sock flung on top of a lamp, though.  As Ben’s sleep-fogged mind takes in the room, he figures that if either of them were really into lingerie, there might have been a bra hanging from the ceiling fan.  Ben lost his pajama pants somewhere in the living room and his shirt-- Hux’s shirt-- whoever it belongs to now-- ended up in the hall, or at least he thinks it did. Tossing clothes around seems awfully sexy until you wake up and have no idea where your pants are.

Initially, the biggest problem with his missing pants is just the overzealous air conditioning unit.

Initially.

“Fuck!”

Ben scrambles out of bed and digs around in his suitcase, only stopping momentarily to wriggle into a pair of boxers.  Hux didn’t unpack it, which means there’s still hope.  Except-- fuck, the ring box is empty.

The little black velvet box stumps Ben for a moment.  Not enough caffeine, too much panic.  He checks his jeans, folded up after returning from the grocery store.

Nothing.

He checks his suitcase again, just to be sure.

Nothing.

He swallows hard and tries to ready himself to face Hux.  How could he mess up like this?  He had one job-- one fucking purpose for this whole trip-- and he’s gone and ruined it.

\--

“You’re wearing my pants.  I need them back.”

Hux stifles a laugh and leans against the breakfast table, propping his chin on his loosely curled hand.  Maybe there’s a slim chance he doesn’t know, that he hasn’t put his hands into the pockets or felt anything press against his leg.  Ben can only hope.

“But you look so good like this,” Hux says, rising from his seat to come over and run his hands over Ben’s chest.

“No fair trying to distract me,” Ben complains.  He grabs at Hux’s hips, hoping to sneak a hand into his pocket.  “I want my pants back.”

Hux kisses him, soft and sweet, before slipping out of his hands and darting back into the kitchen.  “Shouldn’t have left them lying about where anyone could take them!”

Ben gives chase like a dog after a squirrel, following Hux out the patio door and onto the beach.  It’s hard to run on sand to begin with, and even harder to run when he’s pretty sure Hux is deliberately kicking sand into his face.  It’s too early for anyone else to be out, still pre-dawn lavender and quiet, but the two of them make a scene, shouting to each other and weaving around seaweed piles.

At last, Ben grabs Hux’s wrist and yanks him back against his chest, playfully growling, “I’ve got you now,” and squeezing him tightly.

“Let me go,” Hux pleads between giggles.  “Let me go and I’ll give you what I’ve got in my pocket.”

Well, the secret’s out, it seems, but Hux wouldn’t be so giddy if he was going to say no, right?  Ben hopes so, anyway.  He lets go, quivering with anticipation.  Time seems to slow down, every movement as deliberate as a ballet as Hux steps forward and turns to face him.

And then Hux is suddenly out of view, dropped to the sand on one knee, looking up at Ben like he’s the most precious thing in the world, and he’s reaching for his pocket, and Ben can’t help covering his mouth with his hands like his soul might fly out of it.  The ring Hux pulls out, though--

It’s not the ring.

It’s a ring, yes, but not _the_ ring.

Ben’s expression goes from awed to confused, but then he realizes what must have happened.  Hux brought a ring of his own.

_Hux was going to propose anyway._

“Well?  Are you going to say something, or are you going to stand there until the tide comes in?”

Ben abruptly hauls him upright and kisses him, clutching at his skinny, bare shoulders.  Hux tastes like coffee, which is a hell of a lot better than Ben figures his own state is right now, but there’s no way he’s going to go back to the house and brush his teeth just so he can kiss his fucking boyfriend-- fiance?  Fiance!  Fuck, Hux is his _fiance_ now.

“Still waiting for a yes,” Hux murmurs in his ear.

Finding that he still can’t make any words happen, Ben simply shoves his hand into Hux’s pocket and takes out the ring he had hoped to propose to Hux with, a simple little silver band with a black stripe around the middle.  He offers it with a hopeful smile, and finally, _finally,_ he says, “Only if you let me give this one to you without running off again.”

Hux holds still, snuggling against Ben’s chest while he slips the ring on.  It’s so simple, but so Hux, he wants to ask where Ben got the inspiration-- and his ring size.  Then again, Ben has Hux’s class ring on a chain around his neck almost every day where he actually gets dressed.

It suddenly occurs to both of them that they’re half-naked on the beach, and even though they’re technically covered, Ben sheepishly asks, “Can I please have my pants back now?”

Taking his hand and leading him back to the house, Hux answers, “Of course you can, love.  Want to go propose again at breakfast and make random people applaud?”

“You’re such an egomaniac,” Ben mutters.  “I’m going to do it right on the boardwalk, if you want an audience.”

“Want to see how many times we can propose to each other in one day?”

Ben considers this for a moment.  “Maybe we can get free dessert at dinner.  I’m totally proposing again.”

“You would use me for a free dessert?”  Hux pretends to be offended, as though he hasn’t bribed Ben with kisses a thousand times for a fresh batch of shortbread.

“Hell yeah I would.  You made me run out of the house half-naked.  The least you can do is get me a free chocolate lava cake.”

Hux rolls his eyes, but he stops for another kiss anyway.  “You’re no more naked than if you were wearing swim trunks, but I suppose I can tolerate it.  As long as you share the cake, anyway.”

“Deal.”  Ben hugs him close to his side and nudges him forward again.  The future-- and possibly free cake-- are waiting.

 

\--

 

Now with a bonus sleepy Hux <3


End file.
